Fallen
by Lioness's Heart
Summary: Oneshot. She had watched him fall, but it wasn't until now that Beka truly realized that Rosto couldn't be saved anymore. For the MoT Forums January Challenge.


**Disclaimer: It's not mine, and it never will be. End of story.  
A/N: Another oneshot. Yay! This is another really angsty little thing. It's for the monthly challenge over at the Men of Tortall forums. This month's prompt is 'Fallen.' It was fun to write, and - once again - I didn't kill off a character...except he ended up being like a Tortall version of a Sith Lord...that's actually a bad thing, I think... But hey, no character death. And hopefully the next thing I write won't be a total and complete angstfest. That would be good.  
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She watched him fall from grace.

It had been a slow thing, not quick and painless. It had started out innocently enough…or as close as it could be when you were a thief.

Maybe his intent had been good. Maybe he had been trying to do the right thing for once in his crooked life. Maybe he hadn't been all bad when it had started. Maybe he hadn't meant do slide down that slippery slope.

It hadn't been so bad in the first years, she mused. There had been a light in his eyes, a spring in his step, and a ready smile on his face. Except when night fell and he was on the prowl, not as himself, but the ruler of the underworld…

That was where his fall had started. The slow progress had started on the wooden throne, slowly sapping the light from his eyes, the smile from his face…even the joy from his laughter. His sometimes soft heart had gone as hard and cold as stone.

When his light was gone, he had become a dark man, cruel and foul-tempered. By that time, he had not been the man she had known. He had become something else entirely. His own inner darkness had taken hold and it would not let go. He was a monster; his good intent was long gone.

Then she stopped, pausing only to remember: he had been a good man, once… Once upon a time, he had left her flowers, given her little gifts here and there, and tried to woo her until she couldn't even remember her own name. But that was then.

Now, _he_ barely knew her name. She was just another target, another obstacle in his way. There was nothing that could stand in his way for long. Eventually, she would die, just like the others. He didn't know her anymore…and that was a day she had never hoped to see.

Her only regret was this – she could not save him. He was too far gone. He had slid too far away. There was nothing that she could do to save him - nothing that anyone could do to save him.

Besides…to be redeemed, you had to want it. If you didn't want it, then redemption meant nothing. Then it was only a word without truth to it.

But as she stood and watched the blood flow and the battle go on…she missed him. More than she had in a long time. But she did not miss who he was now. She missed who he had been. That once upon a time was so far away now. It was only ashes in the past: a wish turned to dust.

Now she was watching him fall again. This time was different. This time was forever. There was no second chance; no hope that she could try to bring the man she had known back. Instead, there was nothing but coldness, dust, and pain.

Whether he won or lost, this was the end of who he had been. This was his final sacrifice.

When it was over, fresh bloodstains splattered the floors where it had fallen, a temporary memory of the scene that had played out only moments before. He was gone, cold and desecrated.

He was alive. But only just. That life was only a shell, and he was only barely there now. He did not care about the blood on his hands. He did not care for the innocents he had doomed. He did not care about what he had done.

For all he lived, he was a different man now. He was not an emblem of hope as he could have been before, when they were young, and he had been a good man.

In the back of her mind, there was one thing that would forever haunt her.

She had watched him fall from grace.

And she had done nothing to stop it.

They said that the path to Hell was paved with good intentions. To Beka Cooper this was more than true. This was life.

He had fallen. And this time, the angel would not rise. Only a demon would.


End file.
